A Voice from Inside the Classroom
I scan the distant mountains
over the silence of Soldier Field
watch the flag sliding down to half mast
set my mind adrift to the rage of war
to the dark flurry of mourning as I listen
to the howls of sea lions, the babble
of words in Hindi, Pashtu, Dari, Sorani, Farsi,
rising like swords of Tamarlane, cascading
over waves of solitude, over the hills
of Monterey
Morning light lands on the palm of my hand
three simple lines converge into a tentative M
speak of a future I do not wish to know
the horror of our boys in uniforms, rushing
out the classroom, past a teacherʼs desk,
into the rattle of war in distant Iraq, Afghanistan
into the roar of drones bursting into a wave of shudder
Associate Press splashing in screen across America
pictures of young marines on patrol pointing rifles
down the road outside Ramadi, Al Anbar province, Iraq
Then a hush
AP sends pictures of marines
lying in infinite silence on fresh wheat fields
pools of blood on trees and leaves
they are lulled by the Muezzin prayer:
“Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar”
“God is Great! God is Great”
No longer can the moon kiss lightly
on their faces like lovers do
grieving, it mounts on a moving cloud
crossing the vast empty sky of America
There
in the stillness of dawn
under the shaft of light
lies a land wounded
Mira Oaten was a senior instructor at the Defense Language Institute when she wrote this poem. Her students in the Marines and the Army were deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan.